The Da Quirm Code
by Runt Thunderbelch
Summary: Sam Vimes is convinced the legendary Leonard of Quirm has left a coded message in his masterpiece "The Last Midnight Gnosh" which will reveal the identity of a serial killer.  And oh yeah, the Auditors of Reality again seek to destroy the universe.
1. The Lady in White

Disclaimer:

I don't claim any ownership in Terry Pratchett's

Discworld novels & stories,

Nor do I claim any ownership of Dan Brown's

_The Da Vinci Code._

The Da Quirm Code

By

Runt Thunderbelch

Chapter 1: The Woman in White

"Tra la la, la la la la la," sang Cecil Seychelles happily as he puttered around his shop in the fading light of the sun. His feather duster danced lightly over his beloved inventory of beautiful seashells.

The silver bell over the door tinkled merrily as what must be the final customer of the day entered. She was a young lady, all dressed in white. She was most beautiful, her startling pale skin being accentuated by impossibly deep blue eyes. "I beg your pardon, sir. Is this establishment called Cecil Seychelles Sells Seashells Down by the Seashore to Seasick Sailors and Shell-Shocked Soldiers?"

Cecil's jaw dropped. "Blimey, miss. You're the first customer I've ever had who's been able to pronounced the name of me shop properly."

"And are you Cecil Seychelles?"

"I am; I am. I most truly am. What can I do for you?"

Her hand came up. In it was a miniature crossbow. "You can die." She fired. The bolt hit Cecil in his chest.

"Uuuuh," he said and fell over backwards.

The beautiful young lady who was dressed all in white picked up a large, spiral-shaped nautilus shell, turned and left the shop to the merry tinkle of the silver bell over the door.

dQC

Havelock Vetinari entered into the spacious jail cell located high in the walls of the Patrician's Palace. He was still beating out the persistent embers in his black cloak.

Leonard of Quirm glanced up from the collection of steaming metal tubes and boilers he was working on near one of the many barred windows. The longest, straightest tube protruded boldly out the window. Steam was leaking out everywhere. "Oh. Good evening, Patrician," he said, dripping in sweat.

"Good evening, Leonard," replied the tall, rapier thin man dressed in black. "I see you've added a few new booby traps to the tunnel leading up here."

"Oh yes," the ancient man replied. "Do you like them?"

"Leonard, has it ever occurred to you to tell me about new traps before you put them in?"

"Why would I want to do that?"

"So that maybe they wouldn't kill me."

Leonard chuckled. "No chance of that. You're Havelock Vetinari."

"I know who I am. I also know that I am made of flesh and blood, have a beating heart, and am just as mortal as the next man. One of these days, one of your little tricks could kill me."

Leonard chuckled again. "My my my. Aren't we the worry wart?"

The Patrician tried glowering, but Leonard was too concentrated on his pipes to notice, and so the thin man in black continued. "I'll make you a little deal. You can design all the booby traps you want. You can even build them. But let me install them, all right."

"But you're a very busy man."

"I like knowing what you're doing. You have a fascinating mind. For instance, what are you working on there?'

Leonard grinned. "I'm making tea."

"Tea?"

"Would you like a cup?"

The Patrician regarded the complicated device. Metal pipes led everywhere; steam squealed out from many of the joints; and the whole thing sat on a low, wooden platform mounted on wheels. "Are there biscuits?"

"Delicious ones, with the little sugary things on top."

"Well then, of course."

"Coming right up. Well, first I have to bleed off some pressure." With a wobbly shove, Leonard of Quirm rolled the device away from the window. He searched around and finally located a fist-sized stone ball and slipped it into the longest tube. Then he rolled the device back to where the long tube was sticking out of the window. Next he retrieved a pair of porcelain cups and saucers, set them under a pair of short spouts, and turned the value above each of the spouts. "Now watch this. This is my favorite part."

Leonard pulled the big handle. There was an incredibly loud BANG, the stone ball went sailing high out over the city, and with a joyous whistle, delicious-smelling tea poured out of the two spouts and into the porcelain cups.

The Patrician ignored the tea and watched the high arc of the stone ball. He did take time to glance quickly over at Leonard, who had produced a spyglass through which he was watching to flight of the ball.

"Oh phooey, gosh darn it, and fiddle sticks!" cursed the old inventor.

"Is something wrong?"

"I missed by a good six inches!"

"Missed? Missed what?" The Patrician padded over and took the spyglass. He pointed it to where Leonard had been looking. A broad board had been set up outside the city walls. A red bull's-eye had been painted on it. Six inches away was a round hole. "How far away is that board?"

"Oh, about three miles."

"And you missed the target by six inches?"

"Yes," moped Leonard. "If I'd have been shooting at a skinny man, I'd have missed him all together. This thing is a failure!"

"Yes. Just exactly what is this 'thing'."

"I call it a hydrothermal device for the distant transit of stone spheres with tea kettle."

"I see."

"And it's a failure, failure, failure! I'll destroy it tonight!"

"No, no! Don't do that. Don't trouble yourself. I'll have a couple of my men come up here and take it away from your sight forever."

"But Patrician. How will they ever make it passed my booby traps?"

"That's my problem, Leonard, not yours. Now, shall we have some of that delicious-smelling tea?"

dQC

Deep in abandoned mineshafts under the Loko Mountains of Uberwald, Runt Thunderbelch was hunting the ultra-rare glass spider. These tiny creatures were almost impossible to find. They were nearly extinct, and their glass bodies made them almost invisible. They had diamond mandibles, which could deliver a most painful bite, and their webs were spun from strands of crystal-clear silicon dioxide. An unobservant person could walk right by one and never see it.

But Runt was wearing a pair of large-lensed 8-D spectacles, which Rosaline Wing had lent to him. When an over-bold glass spider happened to wander out of its crack in the wall, the thaumic lenses showed one clear glass leg as red, one as orange, one as yellow, one as green, one as blue, one as indigo, one as violet, and one as octorine.(fn1) The spider looked like a walking rainbow.

Runt silently reached for his thaumic sphere. He snapped it in half and crept slowly up on the spider. As quickly as the snap of a whip, he clapped the two halves together over the spider. The little beastie realized it has been captured and attempted to sink its diamond mandibles into the sphere. But the thaumic walls caused the mandibles to harmlessly slip off. There was no way that spider was ever going to escape. Miss Wing was going to pay Runt a fortune for this little guy.

dQC

The silver bell over the door of the little shop jingled merrily as a lady dressed all in white entered. This customer had the palest of skin and eyes of a darker blue than the deepest ocean. "Good evening. Is this establishment called Rosaline Wing's Flights of Fancy, an Emporium of Pet Exotica?"

The woman behind the counter smiled. "It is. We have the rarest of pets for the discerning pet owner."

The impossibly dark blue eyes of the woman swept around the shop. "Ah, I see you still have glass spiders."

"A half dozen, yes, and I am expecting more."

"Oh, a half dozen shall be sufficient for my purposes." Her hand came up. In it was a miniature crossbow. She fired. The bolt hit Rosaline in her throat.

The shopkeeper's voice wordlessly gurgled as she grasp at the deadly shaft. She fell to her knees as if praying, and then over onto her side.

The beautiful young lady who was dressed all in white went over and opened the thaumically protected mesh cage holding the six glass spiders. She swept them into her hand and, ignoring their bites, turned and left the shop to the merry tinkle of the silver bell over the door.

1 According to Terry Pratchett, these are the eight colors of the spectrum. Octorine is the color of magic.


	2. A Matter of Death & Death

Chapter 2: A Matter of Death and Death

Sergeant Angua coolly surveyed the murder scene. The pungency of the drying blood told her the murder had happened just about at sunset. Yet the weakness of the scents of the various customers told her than no one but Cecil Seychelles had been in the shop since lunchtime. Even if the murderer had been a golem, she should have been able to smell the clay. But what she was smelling now was nothing.

It was as if a ghost had risen up and slain the harmless little man who sold seashells.

Robbery had not been a motive; the till under the counter still held its pitiful few coins and bills. Yet Cecil Seychelles had not gone quietly into the Great Beyond. He'd pulled open his shirt and, with his own blood, had written:

Find Leonard of Quirm

Was the shopkeeper naming his murderer? If so, Cecil Seychelles had been the first person in years to have seen Leonard of Quirm. The disappearance of the Disc's foremost inventor and artist, heretofore, had been quite complete.

dQC

Captain Carrot Ironfoundersson of the City Watch wandered through the scene of the murder. As far as he could tell, robbery had not been the motive. The box holding the exotic pet shop's money sat untouched under the counter. He'd found a recent inventory list of the shop's animals, and everything was still here: Howondaland window mice, falling squirrels, Holy Wood chipmonks, bald hares, virgin hedgehogs, vaso constrictors, ball vipers, feathered boas, a hive of stumblebees, rocket snails, a colony of firefleas, coy fish, baby latergators, rocking robins, echoing parrots, Klatchian octorines, an Epheben paraducks, jack sparrows, saber-toothed chickens, and even a kneeling bird of pray.

Everything was there except a half dozen spiders, glass spiders at that. Raised as a dwarf, the six-foot six Carrot knew glass spiders were quite valuable. Perhaps they had been stolen, but more likely they'd been sold and the sale had not yet been entered in the books.

What puzzled him more were the four words written in blood on the floor:

Runt Thunderbelch

Must Pay

Carrot knew everyone in Anhk-Morpork, especially his fellow dwarfs. He knew Runt had been banished by the Under King of the Little Big Tiny Mountains for committing some unspeakable act. Then he'd become involved that matter in the Dark Tower with that mad scientist(fn1) and later served as the henchman to Le Compte de Monte Gribeau(fn2) during the count's rampage of revenge here in Anhk-Morpork. Runt was rumored to have been in the library of the Unseen University at the time a dark and evil book had escaped and had tried to gnaw its way into the Dungeon Dimensions(fn3), but he was nowhere near the Pyramid of Ptiophurnichur when it was plundered by Vera the Raven-Hair and her seventeen great grandchildren.(fn4)

So why was Runt's name written here? Was the shopkeeper naming him as her murderer? Or was this just some cheap stunt to again get his name into print?

dQC

The lady in white awoke in the drab dust of a long forgotten warehouse. Two empty grey cowls were floating nearby.

_Why were the shopkeepers killed? We provided disks of gold for purchasing necessary items. The nautilus shell and the spiders could have easily been bought._

The lady wiped the last of the sleep from her eyes. "The first killing was for experimentation," she explained. "But when we learned that killing was fun, the second shopkeeper was killed as well."

_Listen to those words. Fun? Fun is for living things. To enjoy fun is to live. And to live is to die. This mission is leading to death._

The lady in white retorted, "They were both insignificant beings. Whether they were brushed away is of no importance. Why should it matter if their deaths brought joy?"

_The words you speak are human words. We Auditors are more than human. If we discover one day that you are human, you will die. Take care. Take care. Take care._

The gray cowls became fainter and finally faded away.(fn5)

dQC

His Grace, Samuel Vimes, Duke of Anhk-Morpork and Commander of the City Watch crossed his legs (and sadly revealed that the soles of his boots had been worn paper thin). He gazed steadily across the great desk of the Oblong Office at the Patrician, who ignored Vimes and continued working his way through one of the endless stacks of papers the constantly passed before him.

"You wished to speak to me, Commander Vimes?"

"Yes sir. The Watch is investigating a pair of murders. Identical _modus operendi_. Both victims were shopkeepers. Each was shot once with a miniature crossbow bolt. Each was alone when the assault happened. Neither shop was robbed. There is no motive for either killing."

"Puzzling, true, but hardly justification for interrupting my work, wouldn't you say?"

"Each of the shopkeepers named the killer. Written in blood next to the body of one Cecil Seychelles were the words: 'Find Leonard of Quirm'."

The Patrician quill ceased writing. He looked up with black, merciless eyes. "Say that again."

"The first victim, Cecil Seychelles, wrote in his own blood: 'Find Leonard of Quirm'."

The Patrician twitched. "I am under the impression that Leonard of Quirm disappeared quite a few years ago. Am I mistaken?"

"No sir, you are correct. He simply vanished one bright sunny afternoon. Indeed, I believe that you were the last person to see him."

"Me? Oh I think not, Commander. If you check the record, you will find that a great many people are known to have seen and talked to him after our last meeting."

"Yet three months after his disappearance, that painting suddenly appeared on your wall." He pointed to an oil painting behind the Patrician's desk.

Havelock Vetinari twisted around to look at it. It was of a dining hall. A long table stretch across the middle of the painting. The Archchancellor of the Unseen University sat in the middle with a half dozen rotund faculty members on each side of him, thirteen figures in all. Before them, lay a sumptuous feast of suckling pig, barbequed chicken, slow-roasted fowl and an array of side dishes. "Ah. _The Last Midnight Gnosh_. Although I normally shun ostentation, this is a true masterpiece, is it not?"

Vimes could not argue with that. "Most art critics claim that this and the _Mona Ogg_ are the two greatest works of art ever painted."

The Patrician turned back around and smiled. "I see your marriage to Lady Sybil had done you well. I do remember a time when you would have awarded that accolade to the celebrated _Dogs Playing Poker_."

"So tell me, Patrician, how did that painting happen to come into your possession . . . three months after Mr. de Quirm's disappearance?"

There was a long pause. "Let me assure you of one thing, Your Grace. Leonard of Quirm did not murder your shopkeepers. You can take my word on that."

"No I can't, sir, sorry."

There was another long pause. The Patrician began looking through one of the stacks of papers. At last he found the one he was looking for. "Well, well, well, it appears that you are incorrect, Commander Vimes. It appears that something was taken from each of the shops: from one, a nautilus shell, and from the other, six very rare glass spiders."

"I meant no money was taken, sir. And yes, I know about the seashell and the missing spiders. But that's most likely attributed to bookkeeping omissions."

"Or sloppy police work."

Vimes stiffened.

"Find the nautilus shell and these spiders, Commander Vimes, and I daresay you shall find your murderer. But continue your pursuit of the missing de Quirm, and all you'll find are some very cold footprints."

ENDNOTES

1 See my story "Something Wingêd this Way Comes."

2 See my story "The Count of Monte Gribeau."

3 See my story "Stealing Time."

4 Don't see my story "Vera the Raven-Haired: Tomb Raider." Runt is not mentioned in it.

5 The Auditors of Reality are required to report the precise location of every atom during each second of Creation. The justification is simple: If something is not observed, it will cease to exist.

Needless to say that, in carrying out their task, the Auditors have come to adore the laws of physics. Pursuant to these laws, things move about in a predictable and orderly fashion. Observing them was a breeze. But in contrast, there were living creatures, i.e. matter which got up and walked around in no predictable fashion. Creatures made the Auditors existence a living Hell. Even worse, were the many races found on the Discworld. How where Auditors supposed to observe the location of love? Or laughter? Where precisely was a thought located? The Auditors loathed humans, dwarves, trolls, vampires, etc. and wanted nothing more than to obliterate them from the multiverse.

But there were Rules.

The Auditors had to live by the Rules. The Rules prohibited the Auditors from simply triggering Armageddon. The Auditors were required to act with more finesse.


	3. The Pumpkin II

Chapter 3: The Pumpkin II

The tall dwarf (nearly four feet high!) went hurrying along the dark Street of Cunning Artificers pushing a wheelbarrow full of pumpkins. He stopped at a particularly rickety set of wooden stairs. Tucking one pumpkin underneath each arm, he pounded up the steps to the top floor, clawed at the door handle until he managed to catch it, pushed open the door, hurried along the dreary hallway to a flimsy door made of discarded boards, canvas and dabs of chewing gum. It was painted with the words 'Pumpkin Thinkin, Organizin, Understandin & Inteligenz Engin Corpirashun'. He shoved the door open with his shoe, and went inside. "Evening Wozz."

A short, round, bald dwarf working in the light of a single candle grunted, "Oh there you are, Works(fn1). You get the pumpkins?"

"Here's two," replied Works wiggling them. "I got more downstairs. Come help me unload, okay?"

"I can't. Busy here," grunted Wozz. He had a series of cunning artifices on the workbench before him. One was a series of thin metallic frameworks featuring a battery of upright, very slender mirrors, mounted on cogs. The next series each had a tiny little saddle, mounted above a revolving set of shafts, leading up to a thaumic crystal. The third were two piles of fabric patches with tiny mirrors attached to one side. The fourth was a group of tiny chaise lounges. Next to Wozz, chittered a cage full of rambunctious imps. Some clung to the bars watching him, others quarreled, wrestled and bit each other.

His partner Works sighed in resignation. Realizing that Wozz wasn't going to help him and that he'd be climbing up and down those stairs, Works shrugged off his chainmail and then hurried back down the stairs to bring up more pumpkins before his wheelbarrow was stolen.

Wozz pulled over an empty rusty bucket and put one of the pumpkins beside it. When he picked up his battleaxe, the imps went crazy.

"Kill it! Kill it. Chop its head off!"

With a powerful swing, Wozz's axe sliced through the pumpkin just below its stem, cutting off the top two inches. The imps cheered.

"Pull out its brains! Scoop them out! Rip them out!"

Wozz took a long-handled spoon and began scooping out the seeds and dumping them in the rusty bucket. More cheers from the imps.

"Kill! Kill! Kill!"

A jack-o-lantern face came next: two inverted triangular eyes, a triangular nose, and a toothy crescent grin. Nothing fancy here; stick with the basics.

"Stab its face again! That was beautiful!"

Inside the jack-o-lantern, Wozz glued the patches over the nose and mouth holes, mirrored-side in. Then, in the back of the jack-o-lantern, Wozz installed one of the devices with the thin mirrors. The curvature of the inside of the pumpkin left enough room to install a candle. In front of the jack-o-lanterns and on the right, Wozz installed the little saddle with the thaumic crystal going right in the middle of the pumpkin. In the remaining space in the left front, Wozz placed one of the tiny chaise lounges.

Works came back in, carrying two more pumpkins.

Wozz turned around. "I'm just about to test it. Do you want to watched?"

Hurriedly, Works set down his pumpkins. "Oh yeah!" He came quickly to the workbench.

His shorter companion had already seated himself directly in front of the pumpkin. He lit the candle and then took an imp from the cage, placing it gently inside the jack-o-lantern. The tiny creature went over, seated himself in the saddle and began to pump the foot pedals. This turned the combination of shafts, which caused the thaumic crystal to revolve and also the battery of slender mirrors began revolving. The eight mirrors each sat on a cog with a different number of teeth (2, 3, 5, 7, 11, 13, 17 and 19). They all turned at different rates.

Wozz fished out a piece of paper from under his chainmail and began to read, speaking directly into the pumpkin's nose:

"There are five very rational pirates: a captain, his lieutenant, a chief, a bosun and a swabby. They find 100 gold coins, and they must distribute them according to the Pirate Code. The Code states that pirate with the most senior rank is to propose a distribution of coins. Then all the pirates, including the most senior-ranking pirate, vote on whether to accept this distribution. If the proposed allocation is accepted by a majority vote, it happens. If not, the proposer is thrown overboard, and the next most-senior pirate makes a new proposal to begin the system again.

"In the event of a tie vote, the most senior pirate has the deciding vote.

"The pirates base their decisions on three factors, in order of priority: First of all, each pirate wants to survive. Second, each pirate wants to maximize the number of gold coins he receives. And third, all things being equal, a pirate would prefer to throw the most-senior pirate overboard.

"Determine the number of coins each pirate receives."

As Wozz spoke, the fabric in the nose of the jack-o-lantern was vibrated by his voice. This caused the mirrors on the inside of the fabric to vibrate, reflecting the candlelight off in different directions. This candlelight then bounced off the eight revolving mirrors, with some of it being reflected back into the twirling thaumic crystal, which refracted it onto the mirrors on the inside of the patch of fabric covering the mouth. As that fabric vibrated, the jack-o-lantern spoke:

"The captain will grant himself 98 coins, give none to the lieutenant, one to the chief, none to the bosun, and one to the swabby," said the pumpkin.

Works and Wozz looked at each other. "Explain."

Candlelight reflected and refracted inside the pumpkin.

"The swabby is a rational pirate. He would therefore reason that, if the three senior-most pirates were tossed overboard, the bosun would award all 100 coins to himself and none to the swabby, knowing that in a 1-1 tie vote, the boson's vote would control. Therefore, the swabby would not cast a vote which caused the chief to be thrown overboard and leaving just the bosun and the swabby.

"If, however, there were three pirates left, the chief would only have to offer the swabby one coin to obtain his vote, because the one coin which the chief offers is more than the zero coins he would receive from the bosun.

"But previously, the lieutenant would have realized that, if he offered the bosun only one coin, the bosun would receive more than from the lieutenant than he would from the chief. Therefore, the lieutenant and the bosun would vote to accept a 99-0-1-0 division of coins. Because the vote was 2-2, the lieutenant's vote would be the tie breaker.

"But the captain can keep from being thrown overboard in the first place simply by offering the chief and the swabby one coin each, which is more than they'd receive from the lieutenant. And therefore, the most rational division is 98-0-1-0-1."

Works and Wozz were amazed.

Behind them, a very feminine voice said, "Impressive. Most impressive."

They turned to discover a young lady standing behind them. Neither dwarf had heard her come in. She was dressed in all white and was very pretty, with paler-than-pale skin and bluer-than-blue eyes.

ENDNOTES:

1 Like so many dwarves, Ibn Workindeepindamineshaft and Cey Wozziztupidnaimagain both shortened their names when they moved from the dwarf mines of the Little Big Tiny Mountains down to the mean streets of Ankh-Morpork. Workindeepindamineshaft liked to be called "Works," and Wozziztupidnaimagain became just plain ol' "Wozz."


	4. Run, Runt, Run

Chapter 4: Run, Runt, Run

Runt Thunderbelch was surprised to see lights still burning in Rosaline Wing's Flights of Fancy, an Emporium of Pet Exotica as he rode passed atop a mail coach. "Hey! Hey!" he called to the coachman. "This is fine. Let me off here."

"Can't." The evil-smelling driver didn't even turn around. "Mr. von Lipwig keeps us on a very tight schedule, he does. And I'm already trying to make up for lost time."

"Let me off!"

"Can't!"

So Runt picked up his few belongings, and he jumped. He bounced one on the cobblestones, did a forward somersault, and landed boots-first in a bushy shrub of bloody-nosed Susans. Muttering bad words, he picked up himself along with his few belongings, and limped back up the street to Rosaline Wing's Flights of Fancy, an Emporium of Pet Exotica. He climbed the two wooden steps and pushed open the door to the happy tinkle of the silver bell.

Carrot and Angua turned towards him.

On the floor, was the chalk outline of Rosaline Wing. Next to it was drying blood which spelled out:

Runt Thunderbelch

Must Pay

Carrot spoke first. "Good evening, Runt," he said way too pleasantly.

Runt had always been very good at putting two and two together and coming up with four (unless of course there were actual numbers involved). He dropped his belongings and fled.

As he ran, he heard Carrot's tin whistle(fn1) squealing after him. But soon, he heard a sound he dreaded even more: the pursuing scrabble of werewolf claws on cobblestones. Angua had transformed. Somewhere behind him, she emitted a soul-quivering howl.

Runt spotted a counter-weight crane that had been tied down for the night. He leaped up, seized the rope, and used his axe to chop through the rope below him. A single blow was sufficient to sever it, and Runt was propelled upwards. It was an easy flight up to the roof. Too easy. He kept going up in a high arch. The shingled roof looked tantalizingly delicious as it passed below him. He did so want to be down there. But then to whole downward slope of the roof fell away, and Runt was looking down at the next street, which was coming up fast.

Runt thought about screaming but doubted if it would do any good.

An open carriage of fashionably dressed ladies passed beneath him, and he landed square in the middle of them. There were squeals of surprised.

Runt staggered up to his feet. "Evening, ladies," he said jovially, just to put them at their ease. Then he spotted the watchman running up fast from behind the carriage, blowing his silly whistle. Runt spun around and yelled "he'ya!" at the horse, and they took off at a dead gallop.

"What are you? Crazy?" shrieked the driver as he desperately attempted to bring the horse back under control.

When they careened around the corner on just two wheels, the fashionably dressed ladies ganged up on Runt, seized him, and threw him bodily out of the carriage.

He bounced on the street and rolled up against a nearby boarding house. He came to rest against the cover of the building's crawl space. A single swing of Runt's axe shattered the cover, and Runt dashed into the crawl space. (Well, for humans, it may have been a crawl space. For dwarfs, it was a more like a bend-over-and-hurry-along-really-quickly space.) Rats and cockroaches scurried out of his way. He got to the crawl-space cover at the back side of the boarding house, shattered it, and emerged into the yard.

A guard dog looked at him in surprise. As the dog wondered what he should do, Runt hauled back and punched it hard in the nose. The dog yelped and fled.

The dwarf hurried through the poor-excuse-for-a-garden and grabbed onto the rose trellis that was fixed to the back wall. He began to climb. Rose thorns snagged his chainmail. Splinters stabbed into his hands. Moths flew into his face. Just as he almost reached to top, the trellis pulled free and, with a penultimate groan, lowered Runt back down into the poor-excuse-for-a-garden.

The guard dog had returned and by now was in the mood for trouble. A dwarficidal growl rumbled deep in his throat. Yellow fangs glinted in the moonlight.

So Runt punched him in the nose again.

Again the dog yelped and fled.

Runt spotted a rusty manhole cover in the gravel of the garden. He scooted over, levered up the heavy lid, wormed his way into it, and let the lid back down over the hole.

The shaft led down to a tunnel half-filled with rain water. Runt hurried along until he realized that he must be racing towards the Anhk River. The water in the river was so toxic, it would probably stunt his growth. There had to be another exit.

A few minutes' worth of searching led him to another shaft with a ladder that took him back up to the surface. He shoved to manhole cover aside and slipped silently back out into the night. He came out in a crouching position, but was soon aware of a thick uniformed leg to his left and a matching one to his right.

"Psst, Sarge," he heard an urgent whispered. He looked over to see Corporal Nobby Nobbs pointing directly at him. "There he is."

"Where?" he heard the voice of Sergeant Fred Colon answer. The thick bow legs began orbiting around Runt as the rotund watchman began turning in a circle.

"Look down," urged Nobby.

Fred looked down to see his enormous belly. "What?"

"He's there."

"Naw, that's just my stomach. Keep looking."

"No, Sarge. He's there?"

"Where?"

_Enough of this, _thought Runt. It is well known that dwarfs put the "up" in the word "uppercut," and so Runt drove his fist straight up into Fred Colon's high & mighties. The big man groaned and bent over just as Runt was leaping out, and so the crown of Runt's head and Fred's nose slammed together. The sergeant yawped and flopped over onto his back while the dwarf took off running.

Nobby Nobbs came after him, moving with inhuman speed.(fn2)

Runt ran, hearing Nobby's pounding boots coming nearer and nearer. He remembered a tale from his childhood of a dwarf being chased by a dragon. The dwarf saved himself by throwing down gold coins and precious gems to distract the dragon. Runt had neither gold nor gems but only a few coins of copper and nickel. He clawed them out of his pockets and scattered them on the ground. A moment later he was rewarded by the sound of boots scrapping to a halt.

He leaped over a short fence and fled into a graveyard.(fn3)

Owls hooted. Crows cawed. Ravens croaked.

Runt desperate path took him right into an open grave. Using the pickax end of his axe, Runt managed to clamber his way up the side, staggered a few feet more and fell into a second open grave. He climbed out of that one too, staggered a few feet more and fell into a third open grave. As he was struggling up the side of that one, a hand came down from above.

"Here mate, let me help you out."

Runt grabbed onto the hand and was hoisted out of the grave by Reg Shoe, the City Watch's first zombie. Reg gazed at Runt with lifeless eyes.

Runt pulled free of Reg's hand (or more precisely, Reg's hand was pulled free from the zombie), and the dwarf turned and ran face first into the fist of Sargent Detritus.

"You are unner arrest. You have de right to remain unconscious. If you give up dat right, you'll talk your head off if you know wat's good for you."

ENDNOTES:

1 If tin whistles are made out of tin, and wooden whistles are made out of wood, what do they make fog horns out of? Just asking.

2 Almost everything Nobby does is inhuman to a greater or lesser extent.

3 "Walls around graveyards/Are silly without a doubt./The people on the inside don't wanna go in./And those on the inside can't get out." …Nipsey Russell


	5. A Thickening Plot Never Boils

Chapter 5: A Thickening Plot Never Boils

The lady in white smiled. "Pardon me for startling you gentlemen. My name is Alba Blanca."

"Um, er, uh," mumbled Wozz. This was his standard pick up line with beautiful women and could well explain why he was still single.

"Call me Works," said Works, "and this is my partner Wozz."

"And this is the Pumpkin II." She practically drooled at the cunning artifice.

"How do you know that?" asked Wozz. "That's top secret."

"Mmmm," she nodded. "It's a thinking, organizing, understanding & intelligence engine, correct? Designed to be an inexpensive, in-home version of the Unseen University's legendary Hex machine, yes?"

"How is it," asked Works, "that you're floating in air?"

"Oh that," she said breathily. "That's just a minor birth defect. I was born with short legs. They don't quite reach the ground."

"Short legs," muttered the mesmerized Wozz. "We dwarfs can relate to that."

Alba couldn't take her eyes off the Pumpkin II. "How would you gentlemen like it if I could show you a simple way to make your artifice even smarter?"

dQC

Lady Sybil crept down the grand staircase of the great manor and made her way through the darkness towards the mysterious candlelight which wafted out of the manor's library. Her missing husband was sitting on a couch, looking at an overly large book.

"Sam dear? What are you doing?"

He jumped and twisted around. "Oh, uh, reading."

She came forward. "You?"

"It's been known to happen."

"What is it that has you so fascinated?"

"Um." He wiggled his figures at the book.

"That's my coffee-table book on da Quirm's paintings."

"Yes."

"And it's keeping you up at night?"

"Yes."

She came over and sat so closely to him that she snuggled her hip into his. "Why?"

"See this picture? The original's hanging in the Oblong Office. The first time it was known to exist was three months after da Quirm's disappearance."

"So you think Vetinari had something to do with the disappearance?"

"Oh, I know so. What I'm hoping this painting will tell me is why?"

dQC

Several hours later, dawn splashed down from the high mountains, filling the valleys and dales with golden light. It rushed on as an unstoppable wave, sweeping across fields, waking birds and flowers, and swirling through the city streets of Anhk-Morpork as it flowed towards the sea.

Havelock Vetinari entered into the spacious jail cell located high in the walls of the Patrician's Palace. He found Leonard of Quirm trembling over the morning edition of the Anhk-Morpork Times.

"Patrician," the inventor protested, "I didn't kill the seashell shopkeeper. I don't know why he wrote my name in blood."

"He did not say that you had killed him. He instructed us to find you. Apparently he believes that you are the one who will be able to solve his murder."

"But I never met the man. I've never been in his shop. I don't know what he's talking about."

The Patrician raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps it is not important that you know what he's talking about; perhaps it is only important that he did. So Leonard, tell me all you know about nautilus shells."

"Nautilus shells?"

"Yes, the newspapers neglected to mention them in its article. But the only thing taken from the shop was a nautilus shell. Why? What's so special about a nautilus shell?"

"I don't know."

"So tell me about nautilus shells."

Leonard closed his eyes and recited (as if the words were written on the inside of his parchment-thin eyelids): "The shell of the nautilus is coiled, aragonitic, nacreous and pressure resistant. It is composed of two layers: a matte white outer layer, and a striking white iridescent inner layer. The innermost portion of the shell is a pearlescent blue-gray. Internally, the shell divides into chambers, the chambered section being called the phragmocone. The divisions are defined by septa, each of which is pierced in the middle by a duct, the siphuncle. As the nautilus matures it creates new, larger camerae, and moves its growing body into the larger space, sealing the vacated chamber with a new septum, the camerae increasing to number thirty or more in adults. The nautilus shell presents one of the finest natural examples of a logarithmic spiral, also known as 'the marvelous spiral'."

The Patrician understood the importance none of this. "What are you saying?

"Think for a moment about infinity."

"What about it?"

"Most people think of infinity as being something really large."

"And it isn't?"

"Oh yes, Patrician. It is very large, very large indeed. Except when it isn't. Except when something is infinitely small. Like the innermost point of a nautilus shell."


	6. The Last Midnight Gnosh

Chapter 6: The Last Midnight Gnosh

When it came to spit and polish, City Watch Commander Samuel Vimes, the Duke of Anhk-Morpork, could spit and polish with the best of him. He stepped from his wife's best carriage, his ceremonial armor gleaming in the sunlight and the feather atop his helmet dancing in the wind. With the coffee-table book tucked smartly under one arm, he marched up to the front gate of the Unseen University.

It was flanked by two guards dressed in their traditional bearskin uniforms.(fn1) Their officer saw Sam coming and hurried over to meet him.

Sam halted with an overly dramatic boot stomp, followed by a clicking of heels. "Sahr! Samuel Vimes, Duke of Anhk-Morpork and Commander of the City Watch, to see Archchancellor Mustrum Ridcully on an urgent matter of utmost importance! Sahr!"

"Um, er, uh, do you have an appointment?" stammered the young lieutenant.

"Sahr, no sahr!" Sam leaned in and hissed, "On an urgent matter of utmost importance."

The words didn't contain a threat, but the young officer could not help but hear one. He dispatched a courier running ahead and led Sam into the University.

They entered the Archchancellor's chambers just as Ridcully was finishing brushing the crumbs off the belly of his wizard's robes. The head of Discworld's most prestigious university settled his immense girth down onto a creaking chair. "It's quite unusual for the Unseen University to receive a member of the City Watch here on our campus. Yes, quite unusual. Yet Commander Vimes, I understand you wish to speak with me?"

"Yes sir," replied Vimes. "We are currently investigating a pair of murders, and we believe you may have knowledge which may aid us in our investigation."

"Me, sir? No, sir. Not I, sir. Murder is strictly prohibited here on the grounds of the Unseen University. Oh certainly, we may all wish to choke the lives out of our annoying students, but we do not do so, sir. No sir, never! Never, sir, never! Never, ever, ever again!"

"You misunderstand me, Archchancellor. The murders in question took place in town. We would like your aid in locating one of the suspects."

Ridcully nodded knowingly. "The Bursar."

"No sir. Leonard of Quirm."

"Da Quirm? No, quite impossible. He's a most lovely fellow. Wouldn't harm a fly."

Sam opened the coffee-table book to the marked page and set the open book on the Archchancellor's desk. "Tell me about this painting."

Ridcully leaned forward. "_The Last Midnight Gnosh_?" What do you wish to know about it?"

"Leonard of Quirm painted it, did he not?"

"Of course he did. I saw him. I was standing right there." The Archchancellor pointed to the central figure in the painting."

"Yes. And what is the subject of this painting?"

"Why, the Last Midnight Gnosh of course."

"The Last Midnight Gnosh? What does that mean?"

"Oh, I see. Well, Commander, we on the faculty had been growing rather, er, robust. So we voted to all go on a diet together. At midnight that night, we all gathered in the faculty dining hall for one last sumptuous meal before the official diet began. Our last meal is what is depicted here."

"I see. And how long did this diet last?"

"From midnight that night to, let me see." He pursed his lips and looked up at the ceiling. "Ah yes, to approximately four o'clock the next morning."

"Four hours?"

The Archchancellor gave a helpless shrug. "We got hungry."

"Uh huh. There are a number of anomalies in this painting which I wish to discuss with you."

Ridcully frowned. "Such as?"

"Well, it's well known that ladies are not allowed on university grounds. Yet, this painting shows that the person sitting on your right is clearly an attractive young woman."

"What? Where?"

"There." Vimes pointed.

Ridcully snorted. "That's Professor Ponder Stibbons. Young chap. Not much of a beard, I'm afraid."

"But what of your clothing?"

"What of it?"

"Well, you're both wearing blue. Yet your _right_ shoulder is clothed in red, while her, er, his _left_ shoulder is clothed in red. How do you explain the reciprocal clothing?"

"Barbeque sauce."

"Barbeque sauce?"

"Yes, I am right handed while Professor Stibbons is left handed. We're both, I must admit, enthusiastic eaters."

"And this bottle of wine on the table? The bottle labeled '_Sang réal'_, which literally means 'royal blood' in Quirmian."

Ridcully shook his head. "'Sangria' I'm afraid - a wine punch consisting of red wine, chopped fruit, a sweetener, and a small amount of added brandy. Quite bold and delicious."

"So there's no hidden signs, no da Quirm codes as it were, hidden within this painting?"

"None that I'm aware of Commander Vimes."

"When was this painted? Before or after he disappeared?"

"Before or after who disappeared?"

"Leonard of Quirm, of course."

"Leonard of Quirm has disappeared? When did this happen?"

"Years ago!"

"Gracious, what happened to him?"

"No one knows. He disappeared!"

"Goodness, this is most distressing news."

"You didn't know?"

"Commander Vimes, we of the Unseen University don't get out much. Our focus tends to be on academia."

Sam Vimes heaved a heavy sigh. "Archchancellor, you've been a great help," he lied. "Thank you for giving so generously of your valuable time." He got up to leave.

"It was because of the Holy Quail."

Vimes turned back. "Beg pardon?"

"The Holy Quail, my boy. Here, here, let me see that picture again." Once the coffee-table book was again open on his desk, the Archchancellor pointed to the slow-roasted fowl. "I am convinced to this day that our diet would have succeeded but for that delicious bird. It broke the resolve of all of us. It was as if the gods themselves as seasoned and roasted it for our epicurean delight. My mouth still waters are the mere memory of it." He closed his eyes and murmured, "The Holy Quail."

1 Tourism to the gate had dropped off dramatically once the spelling error in the travel brochures was corrected.


	7. A Web of Intrigue

Chapter 7: A Web of Intrigue

It is a well-known fact that all spiders mate for life. Unfortunately for most of the males, that lifetime relationship tends to end with the wedding-night dinner. Not so with the glass spiders of the Loko Mountains, which form a far less cannibalistic marital relationship. Indeed, these spiders' obsessive fidelity would do a celebrity stalker proud.

Alba Blanca had presented Works and Wozz with one half of the three pairs of spiders and showed the two dwarves how to attach the end of the spider's web fiber to the back of their jack-o-lantern. The three spiders took off running, leaving a trio of crystal-clear web strands behind as they hurried off in search of their mates.

Unbeknownst to either Works or Wozz, Alba Blanca had already attached the web strands of the three mates to the Hex computer in the High-Energy Magic Building of the Unseen University, to the Glooper computer in the basement of the Royal Bank, and to the nearest clacks office, by which signals from Pseudopolis's Pex computer communicated with the outside world. At this very moment, those three mates were each laying out a web strand as it heading in the direction of the Street of Cunning Artificers.

dQC

Runt Thunderbelch waited patiently in the Interrogation Room No. 2 of the Pseudopolis Yard police station. The door opened, and in came Carrot.

"Good morning, Runt."

"Good morning, Carrot."

"Are you okay? Have you had breakfast? Do you want a lawyer?"

Runt shook his head. "I don't like lawyers."

"Neither do I." Carrot pulled up a chair and sat down. "You ran from me last night."

Runt shrugged. "You were chasing me last night."

"Why did you run?"

"Why did you start chasing me?"

"Rosaline Wing was murdered."

Runt blinked. "Yeah, I heard."

"Before she died, she wrote your name using her own blood."

"Yeah, I saw."

"Why would she do such a thing?"

"I dunno. I wasn't there."

"Really? Where were you?"

"The Loko Mountains."

Carrot wasn't sure he'd heard right. "Where?"

"I was in Uberwald, in the Loko Mountains, collecting glass spiders for Rosaline."

"The Loko Mountains?"

"Yeah."

"Are you feeling all right?"

"Fine, why?"

"Oh, just because everyone who goes into the Loko Mountains soon after contracts some strange magical disease and dies."

"Ah yes, the Curse of the Loko Mountains."

"You've heard of it?" asked Carrot. "You're not afraid?"

"I'm a dwarf. We don't get magical diseases."

Carrot eyed him coolly. "Any witnesses?"

"Well, there were some centaurs up there and some fauns, but that's not what you talking about, right? You mean like the mail coach driver who brought me into town last night?"

"All the way from Uberwald?"

Runt nodded. "All the way from Uberwald. Last night."

"That's easy enough to check," warned Carrot.

"Be my guest."

"Describe what the area looks like."

"Loko? It's a massive ring of mountains surrounding a very deep valley. Lots of weird creatures up there."

"Like centaurs and fauns."

"And glass spiders."

"Yes, we found one in your possession last night. Did you know six of them were stolen from Rosaline Wing's shop?"

"I hadn't heard they were stolen. I did know that she had them. I was the one who sold them to her."

"Tell me about the Scrolls of Loko."

Runt looked puzzled. "Never heard of them."

"You've never heard of them?" echoed Carrot. "Well let me enlighten you. One Stanmer Crustley led an expedition to Loko. He went into that very deep valley that you described and explored many of the caves in that very deep valley. In one of these caves, he discovered the Scrolls, which he brought back here to Anhk-Morpork shortly before he died. The Scrolls tell of an ancient attempt to split the thaum. But there was an overload in the thaumic reactor the Loko wizards were using. The resulting explosion dug the deep valley, built the massive mountains, and blanketed the area with deranged magic."

"The thaum is the basic unit of magic. It can't be split."

"It can be and has been. First, in Loko, and more recently here in Ankh-Morpork, in the High-Energy Magic Building of the Unseen University."

"Our wizards were actually able to split the thaum?"

"Well, no. Their reactor also overloaded, but they were able to bleed off the extra magic by channeling it into the creation a whole new universe."

"Oh."

"And you don't know anything about that?"

Runt shook his head. "I'm a dwarf. We don't do magic."

dQC

"What is happening?" asked Works.

"What is happening?" asked Wozz as he began to panic.

"Why, there's nothing to be afraid of, gentlemen," Alba Blanca assured them. "What you see happening is a good thing."

"The Pumpkin II" said Wozz, "shouldn't be able to do that."

She sat down in front of the jack-o-lantern. "What has happened is this. Remember the three glass spiders that we connected to the back of your pumpkin? Well, they've each run off trailing that web strand of clear silicon oxide. They've gone off to meet up with their mates. As it so happened, their mates were each coming with a web strand from the other great computers of Discworld. The spiders have now met up, and the web strands have merged. Your computer can communicate through these strands with the Hex computer in the Unseen University, with the Glooper in the basement of the Royal Bank, and with the Pex, located in Brazeneck College in Pseudopolis. These four computers are now the functional equivalent of one giant computer. This computer."

"Is this possible?" asked Works.

Wozz nodded. "Oh yes. It's possible."

Alba Blanca continued, "I call it the Works Wozz Web."

"Hmmm," purred Works. "I like the sound of that."

"If what you're saying is true," said Wozz, "we can control the thought processes off all the computers on Discworld from my little Pumpkin II."

"Do you really think so?" Alba Blanca asked innocently.


	8. Hex

Chapter 8: Hex

Samuel Vimes strode across the grounds of the Unseen University towards the main gate. He stopped striding. To his right sat the High-Energy Magic Building. He pondered for a moment and went in.

It didn't take long to locate the massive Hex computer. A young lady was seated at the controls. She was absent-mindedly stroking the back of a cat which lay beside her.

"Excuse me, miss."

The young lady turned around. "Stibbons, actually. Professor Ponder Stibbons. And you are Samuel Vimes, if I remember correctly."

"You know me?"

"Back in the days before I came to school here, and before you, um, got respectable, me and my mates used to throw rocks at you and call you 'rummy'. Don't you remember?" He continued to pet his cat.

Sam shook his head. "Not from those days, no." He came forward. "So this is the celebrated Hex computer." He looked at the tag: _Anthill Inside._

"Oh yes, we're quite proud of it."

"Tell me about it."

"I, uh, don't know if I should."

"Hey, if you can't trust a policeman." Sam grinned.

Young Professor Stibbons looked down and asked the cat, "What do you think?" When she didn't answer, he shrugged and replied. "Hex's main purpose is to analyze spells, to see if there are simpler 'meta-spells' underlying them, and to help me with my study of 'invisible writings', by running the spells used to bring the writings into existence. These spells must be cast rapidly, and each one can only be used once before the universe notices they shouldn't work.

"It began as a complex network of glass tubes, containing ants. I used punched cards to control which tubes the ants could crawl through, thus enabling Hex to perform simple mathematical functions.

"However, Hex has developed the habit of constantly reinventing itself. Part of it is now clockwork, which interfaces with the ant farm via a paternoster the ants can ride on to turn a significant cogwheel. Indeed, Hex contains several things that nobody can remember installing. There is, for example, a Howondaland window mouse(fn1) named Lisa. No one knows what practical use a mouse would have for a computer, but the one time we managed to get her out, Hex simply shut down and refused to function."

Sam interrupted. "You almost blew up the Discworld with this thing, didn't you?"

"What? With Hex? No."

"With the Thaumic reactor, which it controls."

"Well, blow up the Discworld is a bit of an exaggeration, isn't it sir? I mean, up in Loko where things went as bad as they possible could, the resulting explosion only created a very deep valley and a massive mountain range surrounding it."

"But how much ambient magic was there in Uberwald? Especially when you compare it to the amount of ambient magic here in the Unseen University. Yes, if you were to ever overload your thaumic reactor here in the middle of all this magic, I expect the blast would not cease until the Discworld were reduced to a giant chunk of roasted turtle meat."

Ponder Stibbons squirmed. "Hasn't happened yet, sir."

dQC

Leonard of Quirm slowly turned the nautilus shell over and over in his hands. "Octorine algebra," he muttered.

The Patrician sat with his legs crossed, sipping on a cup of tea. "I beg your pardon?"

The mathematician waved at his query. "Oh, it's a higher form of mathematics, dealing with things like imaginary numbers and cotillions. It's really quite useless, except when talking about distant relatives, string theory, and quantum."

"Quantum?" the Patrician echoed nervously.

"My good man, don't worry. No quantum here, no sir. Why, take a look at this nautilus shell, for example. It spirals around and around down to a point, which of course, has a height of zero and a width of zero, but . . ." he turned the shell ninety degrees, ". . . it has an actual depth. Thus, it's not a true point, but a string."

The Patrician raised an eyebrow. "Isn't string theory pretty much the same things as quantum logic?"

"No sir, not at all! They're completely different. Well, maybe not completely. Actually, they're quite close. Pretty much the same thing, I guess."  
>"Quantum." The Patrician's voice was not happy.<p>

"I think what the killer was after was a string of quanta."

"Whatever for?"

"That's what doesn't make any sense. For such a string of quanta to be of any use whatsoever, the killer would need access to a supercomputer, a thaumic reactor, and of course, to softlore code."

"Excuse me, Leonard. Softlore code?"

"Yes. Softlore is the instruction code which controls a computer. For example, once upon a time, for a bit of a giggle, I wrote instructions which would tell Hex how to destroy the Discworld."

"Really? I see. And do you still have that code?"  
>"Oh yes, it's right here." Leonard of Quirm turned around and began searching through the loose papers which littered his desk. After a while, he shook his head and gave up. "Growing old is a terrible thing. I could have sworn that I just saw that code here a couple of days ago. Now, where could I have put it?"<p>

ENDNOTES:

1 If Lewis Carroll can have a dormouse in his tales of Wonderland, then I am certainly entitled to a Howondaland window mouse.


	9. The Doomsday Clock reads: 20:12

Chapter 9: The Doomsday Clock reads: 20:12

Lisa, the Howondaland window mouse was perplexed. Where had this new stack of code come from? No one had been anywhere near the Hex since the dinner bell had rung, yet now, here was this new code. It was clearly a case of 13 (0xD) ERROR_INVALID_DATA. Lisa's whiskers twitched.

Somewhere nearby, clockwork of Hex turned. A food pellet rattled down a tiny metal chute and onto her dinner plate. The data error forgotten as Lisa turned and scurried towards the waiting food pellet.

dQC

"What should I do with Thunderbelch?" Carrot asked Vimes as the Commander was getting ready to leave the station house for the night. "The coach driver confirms his alibi. Runt Thunderbelch was in Uberwald at the time of the murders."

"Yet he had one of the stolen glass spiders in his possession."

"No sir. He had a glass spider in his possession. He claims it was an additional spider which he'd just captured and was planning on selling to Rosaline Wing. There's no way for us to confirm if it is actually one of the missing six."

Sam grimaced. "He resisted arrest, damaged personal property, assaulted Sergeant Colon, ripped off the hand of Reg Shoe, and attempted to bruise the knuckles of Lance-Constable Detritus."

"But we arrested him for suspicion of murder. If we can't tie him to the murders, then the rest of the charges just sound silly."

"What about the words 'Runt Thunderbelch Must Pay' that Rosaline Wing wrote just before she died?"

"Maybe it's missing a comma, sir. Maybe Rosaline Wing was just leaving a note to herself that she needed to pay Runt Thunderbelch for the glass spider he was bringing her."

"You're forgetting Vimes' Razor: 'When faced with a number of possible answers to a question, the most complex, wild and highly improbably explanation is most likely the correct one'. I wish it weren't that way, Captain, but the gods keep getting involved in Discworld affairs and mucking things up."

Carrot gave his commander a hard stare. "The dwarf didn't do it, sir."

"If he didn't," asked Sam, "then who did, and why?"

dQC

"Hey!" exclaimed Works. "Guess what I found! It's softlore written by none other than Leonard of Quirm!"

"No way!" gasped Wozz. "_The_ Leonard of Quirm? Where is it?"

"On the Unseen University's Hex machine! Should I run it?"

Alba Blanca smiled. "What's the worst that could happen?"

"Oh man! Code written by Leonard of Quirm."

"This Works Wozz Web is really something!"

Works leaned forward and whispered into the jack-o-lantern's nose: "Execute."

Light pulsed from the Pumpkin II through the clear silicon dioxide strands all the way to where the Works Wozz Web plugged into the back of Hex's CMU (Central Monarchial Unit). There, the Queen ant was mesmerized by the flashing lights, and she sent her worker ants running hither, thither and yon throughout the massive computer.

In the next room, the ants pressed the hive of stumble bees into service, with the winged insects literally falling over each other to retrieve critical pieces of data from Hex's storage cells. Hex's softlore instructions told each ant where inside Hex that ant was to take its particular piece of data.

The pitter-patter of millions of minuscule, scurrying feet roused Lisa the Howondaland window mouse from her after-dinner slumber. She stumbled from her nest over to a small opening she had chewed in the front of Hex and peered out.

Lisa saw that Hex's spring had ejected the slowly-turning hourglass which indicated that Hex was thinking. The front cover of the aquarium had rolled up, revealing the ever-wandering fish, a feature which gave the operator something to watch while Hex was working. But strangely no one appeared to be at the controls. Inside the sheep's skull, a waterwheel began turning as RAM powered up. All of this, in Lisa's opinion, was highly unusual.

Nearby, she heard the thaumic reactor switch on. The last time that happened, the Discworld had ended up teetering on the edge of disaster. But back then, there had been someone at the controls. Not only that, but Ponder Stibbons had built in a fail-safe device. The fail-safe device was the Bursar, who had been stationed with an axe next to a rope which had held up a lead rod laminated with rowan wood over the center of the engine. It had been his job, when things got out of control, to chop the rope and let the rod fall, shutting down the reactor. Ponder Stibbons had even provided for a back-up fail-safe device, namely Adrian Turnipseed, whose job it was to stand next to the Bursar and shout "For gods' sake, cut the rope now!".

But as Lisa surveyed to control room, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.

She turned and hurried up through Hex up to the CMU, where she found the Queen staring mesmerized by the blinking lights.

"Squeak!" Shouted Lisa. "Squeak! Squeak!" When the Queen failed to react, Lisa bumped into her.

Her Majesty slowly shook her regal head as she started coming around.

Then the lights from the Glooper began arriving too, and the additional set of flashing lights sent the Queen back into her trance.

"Squeak!" cried Lisa uselessly. "Squeak!"

dQC

"I've done it!" cried Alba Blanca exuberantly. "I've done it! Everything is going just as I planned! I am winning! I am going to win! I have already won . . . Uuuuhhhh." She had turned around to find herself in the company of two gray, empty cloaks.

One said, _What is that pronoun you keep using?_

One said, _You are saying "I."_

One said, _You are no longer part of the "we."_

One said, _You are an individual._

One said, _You are human._

One said, _You are alive._

One said, _But not any longer._

With a mournful squeal, Alba Blanca shrank and then imploded, sucking in loose papers, dust, and some empty snack bags. For a fraction of a part of a microsecond, she was a black hole.

And then she was nothing.

dQC

WELL, THAT WAS MOST INTERESTING. IT LOOKED KIND OF LIKE A SOAP BUBBLE BURSTING, INSIDE-OUT.

Alba Blanca found herself looking at a black-cloaked skeleton holding a scythe. She drew herself up defiantly. "I'm not at all sorry, you know."

YOU HAD IMMORTALITY. NOW, YOU'RE HERE WITH ME. AND YOU'RE NOT SORRY?

"Immortality is highly overrated. Who in their right mind would want to spend a single day adding up all the atoms of the universe, logging their locations, and writing endless reports about them? Yet, we Auditors do that, not for a day, but for all of eternity. It's dreary work, let me tell you, dreary."

THERE ARE THINGS WHICH ARE WORSE.

"Ha! Give me a for instance."

I'M AFRAID YOU'RE ABOUT TO FIND OUT.


	10. Mostly Harmless

Chapter 10: Mostly Harmless

Lisa again nudged the Queen, but Her Majesty was too far under the spell of the flashing lights. Lisa needed something stronger to bring her out of it.

The Howondaland window mouse turned and ran down through the inner workings of Hex to the base of its punch-card machine. The floor there was littered with chads. She picked one of them up and, with for forepaws, bent it into a cone shape. Then she scurried up a couple of ramps to where her water bottle was. The inverted bottle's lick tube extended inside of Hex and, as always, there was a droplet of water waiting for her to lick off. Lisa moved the cone up underneath it, and the droplet of water transferred itself into the cone. She took a second to catch her breath, and then Lisa ran back up to the CMU. The Queen was still dazed.

The mouse threw the droplet of water into the Queen's face. Again, Her Majesty slowly shook her regal head as she began to come out from underneath the spell. But then more lights began to flash as signals from Brazeneck College's Pex computer began to arrive. Again, the Queen was mesmerized.

Lisa smacked herself in the forehead with her paw. This wasn't working. She ran back down, passed her nest, to the hole she had chewed in front of the computer. She looked out. The control room was still dark and empty. The hourglass turned over to signify that Hex was still thinking, and the fish in the aquarium swam endlessly back and forth.

She squirmed out of the hole and dropped down onto the control panel. She'd never paid too much attention to the working of Hex, but she knew that somewhere, there had to be an on-off switch. A few minutes of frantic running back and forth took her to it. And glory be, she could reach it.

She scurried over, got a good grip on the switch with both forepaws, and pulled. And pulled again. And pulled really, really hard. It wouldn't budge. Sometimes it would be a bit more useful if she weighed just a tad more.

Lisa looked around for something to use as a lever, but all there was were two empty potato chip bags and a crumpled soft drink cup.

She turned and raced for the thaumic reactor itself. It was there where the Bursar had been stationed with an axe right next to the rope which held up a lead rod laminated with rowan wood over the center of the engine. But tonight, the Bursar was nowhere to be seen. And it was there where Adrian Turnipseed had stood, next to the Bursar, ready to shout "For gods' sake, cut the rope now!" But tonight, Adrian Turnipseed was nowhere to be seen. Tonight, there was only Lisa.

Her dark eyes clawed over the mechanism, searching out a pathway up to the platform where the Bursar had stood. It took a few frightening minutes, but at last she spotted it. She ran; she scurried; she scampered. She twisted, turned, climbed and leaped her way to the top. Breathing hard, she spotted the Bursar's rope, still holding the rowan-laminated lead rod in place. She may not be able to hold an axe, but she had teeth.

She ran over to the rope, seized it in her forepaws and began to gnaw. And gnaw, and gnaw, and gnaw. Occasionally, Lisa would have to pause to spit out some rope fibers, but then she was back to gnawing again.

With a POING, TWING, TWANG, SPRONG, BOING, DWANG, DING, the last of the rope fibers parted. Then there was a tremendous BANG as the lead rod fell into the heart of the thaumic reactor.

Almost immediately, the internal rumblings of the reactor began to slow, began to wind down, began to quiet. It took only a few second for its gurglings, whishings, and whirlings to cease. Then, there was only silence.

Lisa laughed with relief and turned to find herself facing Ponder Stibbons' cat, which was crouching only a few feet away. The mouse squeaked and ran.

dQC

One of the key abilities in being a successful Patrician was knowing the limits of one's powers. The Patrician had sent for and then dispatched Commander Vimes to ascertain if the softlore written by Leonard of Quirm had somehow accidentally and absolutely not on purpose been inadvertently slipped into the Unseen University's Hex machine. And, if so, to bring said softlore immediately back here.

Until Vimes returned, there was absolutely nothing else that the Patrician could do. So he sipped tea.

Leonard of Quirm paced nervously back and forth, the morning's paper still crumpled in his hand. "Murder," he moaned again, pointing to the paper. "And not even for money, but just a cruel, pointless, heartless murder. How can humans be so, so, so inhuman?"

Vetinari took another sip of tea. "It's what they do."

"And how do you do it?" asked the old inventor. "How can you govern a city filled with people such as these? These wild, lawless, self-centered, ruthless, illogical ruffians?"

The man in black chuckled. "It's what I do."

Leonard of Quirm grasped one of the window bars on his cell and looked out over the city. Floating up from somewhere, there came a muffled scream, the sound of glass breaking and the distant shout, "Halt in the name of the law!"

"Really," Havelock Vetinari said, "it's not all that hard. Anhk-Morpork is a city which pretty much runs itself." There was no need for the Patrician to verbalize the words, ". . . or else."

The old man's sad eyes turned away from the barred windows and towards the ever-calm Patrician. "I know I've thanked you before for this, but thank you again for keeping me safe from all that. I wouldn't last a minute out there among all that chaos."

"Oh, I don't know," replied the Patrician. "Didn't you just design a device which can hurl a stone three miles? Some people might see that as an excellent weapon of war. And what about your softlore that could bring about the end of the Discworld?"

"But those were never meant to be taken seriously! They were just silly games! No one could possibly contemplate ever actually using something as horrible as them!"

The Patrician took another sip of tea. "No, of course not. I don't know what I was thinking. Just pretend I never said that, okay?"

Leonard of Quirm looked back out the window and murmured, "I'm just a harmless old man."

THE END


End file.
